Names and Letters
by Cela Fille
Summary: Twenty-six words for the moments, interludes, and letters in the alphabet. MassieCam ::oneshot:: For Hannah.


**I've held this off for long enough. If it sucks, go blame a certain **James Marsden-obsessed flowah** who's currently pulling her hair out after hanging out with her 'leetle cousins' and demanded that I post this. Loves you, **shizzle sistah-lah** :)**

**Happy Early Christmas, Hammy-let! (merry sounds so... **_drunk_**)**

**LEAH&CHACE FTW.  
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**n a m e s **_&_** l e t t e r s**

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**{**massiexcam**}**

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**o1. amber**

Her amber eyes literally _sparkle _as he shyly hands her a Christmas present- a soccer jersey. How predictable.

But when she leans in and places a glossy kiss on his blushing cheek, you feel the green monster wreaking havoc on your insides.

Nobody quite understands why you hold such a fierce grudge against Derrick Harrington.

**o2. butterflies**

She stumbles drunkenly and her lips brush against your own.

There isn't a starry sky above you and no violins are playing in the background- only a drunken party and people passed out on the floor- but butterflies erupt in the pit of your stomach.

**o3. cinnabon**

She quickly swipes a glossy wand across her lips, and even from across the room, you can almost smell the warm, nostalgic scent of the bakery.

It's no wonder when Cinnabon quickly becomes your favorite flavor on her.

**o4. derrick harrington**

Her first boyfriend. Her first true love. It's so saccharine you almost feel like puking.

He wears the jeweled 'M' brooch on his shorts like a proud little puppy everyday to school.

You tease and call him whipped like the rest of the guys, but would give up just about anything to be in his shoes.

**o5. epitome**

Massie Block is the epitome of a Westchester socialite.

Beautiful. Poised. Intelligent.

Well, at least she tries to be.

**o6. flaw**

She bits her pencils.

She squeezes the gold and amethyst crown charm that hangs on her bracelet when she's nervous.

Her smile is slightly lopsided.

It's her flaws that leave you even more smitten.

**o7. girl **

Kemp Hurley swears she's one of those psycho, but admittedly hot Stepford Wives- complete with perfect hair, clothes, and pearls.

Chris Plovert claims she's the spawn of Satin and can only be killed with garlic and holy water.

But you know she's just your average teenage girl who obsesses over boys, clothes, and drama- only she hides it better.

**o8. happy**

She pivots on the spot, her face turned upward toward the cloudless blue sky, while her airy, strapless white dress flutters around her.

And she looks so damn _happy_ just standing there with expression of ineffable peace, that you just want to sit like that forever, watching her.

You smile because you know only you can see her when she's like this.

**o9. insecure**

You know under her hard, controlling exterior, Massie Block is different.

No one sees the girl who secretly loves mint chocolate chip ice cream with M&Ms, the one who fangirls! over Emmett Cullen, or the one who cries at the end of _The Notebook_. The one under the layers of Marc Jacobs and expensive makeup. The one that just wants to be needed.

That's _your _Massie.

**o10. juicebox**

_"Why wont you come over here, we've got a city to love," _she sings softly. Faded white iPod earplugs hang between the two of you and your cold hands are clutching the lime green nano.

"Do you want to go back to the party?" she asks suddenly, turning toward you. The moonlight reflects off her brunette waves and she looks slightly disappointed as she waits for your response.

"Nah, not really." you answer nonchalantly, and she smiles. "You?"

"Me either."

**o11. knock**

You barely register the knock on the door as you shove your girlfriend toward the bed and kiss her furiously- pushing every thought of Massie Block out of your head.

"Cam, I'm sorry-"

The door opens and you're suddenly staring at her shocked amber eyes that are threatening to fill with tears. She slams the door and you can hear the sounds of heels running down the stairs.

"What's up with her?" Claire whispers in your ear as she wraps her arms around your neck. Her blue eyes are wide with curiosity and concern. You press your lips to her own to shut her up.

You really don't want to think about it.

**o12. liaisons**

You have her pinned against the wall and run your lips across her jaw and trailing down to her collarbone as her finger entangle in your jet-black waves.

"Is someone coming?" she gasps, glancing around furtively.

You merely grunt in response and finger the hem of her cashmere sweater.

Even if the two of you can never date, you'll take what you can get.

**o13. magazine**

She flips through Teen Vogue and Seventeen at an alarming pace, trying to always be ahead on what's in and out.

When the girls at school croon over her latest bag, she smirks and says she's a fashion mogul who can predict trends months before they actually happen.

"Fashion mogul, huh?" You whisper in her ear as you pass by and she turns slightly pink.

**o14. natural**

You insist that she looks better when she's not wearing any makeup. She simply brushes aside your comment like a piece of non-existent lint on her dress.

The next day, she comes to school in jeans, a plain white t-shirt, and not even a single trace of makeup.

You can't take your eyes off her.

**o15. ocd**

You think of the OCD benefit as the inception of your relationship; when you first asked her to dance.

It was awkward; her arms too stiff, your two left feet, the unbelievably sappy oldies tune playing in the background.

But it was also the moment you fell in love with her.

**o16. pineapple**

Her favorite fruit is pineapple.

And on hot, summer days out by the pool, she's lounging and tanning and spooning bits of freshly cut pieces of pineapple into her mouth.

The juice dribbles down her chin and she daintily dabs it away.

Fruit has never seemed so erotic.

**o17. quite**

"I'm sorry, but you need a reservation to be seated, miss." The stuffy concierge behind the desk says, pushing his glasses back with a smug expression. "Brendon Urie just took the last table."

"No, you listen to me! I don't care if you have to kick out Paris Hilton," she growls, and points a manicured finger at the balding man. "Do you know who I am?"

"No, miss." he replies, looking slightly bored and amused at her antics.

"I'm Massie frigging Block." she hisses, and narrows her eyes. "My daddy, William Block, owns these hotels. And just like that," She snaps her fingers to demonstrate, "I could have you out on the streets, snapping bar mitzvah photos for a living. Do you really want that to happen?"

The man visibly whitens and hastily grabs two menus. You chuckle as he apologizes and leads the two of you to the table.

You've never met anyone quite like Massie Block.

**o18. risque**

The hem of her pale gold slip rises slowly up her thigh, and she throws her hair back before sending you a clandestine wink.

Your hands clench around the thin stem of your glass, but the faint sound of cracking barely registers.

You're not quite sure what it is about her that infatuates you so much. It might be her cream and rose skin or the way her raspberry lips curve into a smirk.

She licks her lips and you want her.

**o19. second**

You'll always be second in Massie Block's life.

Second best guy to Derrick, second best friend to Claire, always second.

You'll never have her. So you go for the second best- her best friend.

**o20. technically**

When you hear that Derrick and Massie have gotten together yet again, you try your hardest to avoid them and not feel betrayed. She eyes you apologetically as she's embracing him across the soccer field after the big game, and you look away.

A wave of jet black hair hides your hurt green and blue eyes from her amber orbs as you kick the game ball unnecessarily hard toward the referees.

You shouldn't feel mad.

Because _technically_, you're not dating.

**o21. use**

As gay as it seems for a dude to watch _Gossip Girl, _you realize that it makes understanding girls a hell of a lot easier.

From what you've seen, you're like that Chuck guy. And Massie's that hot- er, pretty- brunette, Blair.

And you feel exactly like Chuck as he finds Blair and 'Man-bangs' getting hot and heavy outside that bedroom.

Used.

**o22. violet**

Claire giggles when you hand her the bouquet of violets, and tucks a flyaway curl behind her ear.

"My favorite flowers are roses, silly!"

Nevertheless, she leans in and kisses you, and you're painfully aware of Massie staring at you and the discarded violets with unexplainable emotion written across her face.

**o23. whore**

"Cam..." she strokes your cheek. Shuddering slightly, you grab her hands and shove her away.

"No, Mass." You shut your eyes and open them again, your tone hardening. "You always come running back to me every time Derrick hooks up with Claire and expect me to be your little booty call until he apologizes. Well, you know what? I'm through with this. You're just a pathetic whore."

She looks at you, her eyes sparkling with tears before her hand whips across your face. A broken sob is the last thing you hear before the door slams behind her.

You'll never admit it, but her cry hurts more than anything else.

**o24. xeric**

Her hands are the softest you've ever felt.

She claims that they're always too dry and continue to rub the pomegranate-scented lotion between her fingers and across her palms.

You groan every time she does this, but secretly love it when her soft as silk fingers expertly undo the buttons of your shirt when you're locked up inside yet another coat closet.

**o25. yes**

"Massie Block, will you marry me?"

"Yes!"

She throws her pale arms around your best friend's neck and kisses him like they're the stars of an old romantic movie. An elderly couple behind you sigh _'young love'_ before continuing on their walk and you try your hardest to smile.

At least you'll be the best man.

**o26. zephyr**

"We have gathered here today to celebrate the union of this man and this woman..."

It's the perfect wedding- perfect groom, perfect bridesmaids, perfect setting- the soft, sea-green waves crash against the shore of the beach, the sky is the perfect shade of blue and everyone turns their head to _ooh_ and _aah_ at the bride.

Your breath gets stuck in your throat.

A gentle zephyr blows through the air and wisps of her elegant up-do fall to the side of her face. You ignore her dress, and concentrate on her smile. Because she looks so fucking happy- more so than during that fateful day in the field- but this time, it's not you who's making her this way. She's not your Massie anymore- she's somebody else's and you'll never have her.

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**Review...?**


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